


sin palabras

by mostfamousestofhobbits



Series: romance without words [1]
Category: The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostfamousestofhobbits/pseuds/mostfamousestofhobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>eight years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sin palabras

**Author's Note:**

> before you start asking, i hate the shift key. end of story. also, look up "romance sans paroles no. 3" by gabriel faure. kind of the theme song for this little drabble.

“of course it’d be raining,” jensen muttered to himself. “the one day i actually _want_ to do something important, it fucking rains.” he glared out the window of the taxi that smelled like old cigarettes up at the dull gray sky, and sighed. ‘what am i even doing here?’ he wondered. it had been eight years. eight years since the nuke, eight years since max, eight years since clay went out in a literal blaze of glory, eight years since he’d hugged cougar goodbye.

the driver began tapping his brown fingers against the wheel. jensen tried to ignore him. he didn’t want to go inside. these kinds of places had always creeped him out. stank of a higher power. he’d sworn off all powers higher than himself nearly a decade ago. letting his head fall away from the window, he scratched his ear absently.

“señor,” the driver said, then paused. jensen stared at the gray seat in front of him. _“just one thing…”_ his eyes began burning. he sniffed, hard, and again looked outside. the stone steps up to the double doors squatted there, grimly awaiting his unwilling feet. the driver said,

“señor…” jensen yanked on the latch and shoved the door open.

“wait here,” he said, then bit his lip. “ _esperar aqu_ _í, por favor_.” he slowly shut the door, barely hearing the cabbie’s reply. he reluctantly lifted his eyes to the church. it’s not like it was a threatening building or anything. wasn’t even impressive. but knowing cougar had been in it at some point made it kinda hard. after staring for a good minute or two, jensen slowly started up the steps as the rain flattened his hair.

the doors creaked a little, which made him wince. he peered up at the rafters until he realized that there was no way in hell stegler had sent an assassin all the way down to the ass-crack of mexico, not after eight years. shaking his head, he stepped into the church, closing the doors behind him. he stared down the aisle at the altar, or whatever it was. there were little wooden statues flanking rows and rows of candles, some lit, some unlit. he assumed it was an altar. votary, maybe. whatever. he glanced right to left at the rows of pews, assuring himself that nobody else was there. he paused, breathed deeply, then, clenching his jaw, he squared his shoulders and marched down the aisle toward the candles.

he looked them over, wondering if there was a specific one he was supposed to light. he looked for something to light a candle with, but the little vase thingy was empty of what he assumed were little slivers of wood. he shrugged, feeling at his pocket for a lighter. he’d started smoking weed every now and again. made him feel nothing much, which was fine by him. ‘which one? is there an order to these things?’ after dithering for a while, he muttered,

“fuck it,” and dug in his pocket for the lighter. after a few tries, he managed to get a flame, and he picked a candle all the way in the back left corner, where all the shadows were. the flame took, and he stared at it for a bit before hastily crossing himself. he shoved the lighter back into his pocket and turned to go. his eyes began to sting. he sniffed and knuckled his eyes, trying not to lose it. hanging his head, he shuffled into the second pew, slumping onto the worn wood.

he stared at the floor for a bit, willing his vision to stop being blurry. he raised his head to look at the candles, eyes drawn to the far left corner. swallowing hard, he shook his head and crossed himself again. he cleared his throat roughly.

“um. hm. m’not too good at this praying thing. i uh, i don’t much see the point.” he gnawed at his lower lip, hastily wiping away a tear. “um.” he tried to smile at his stupidity, mouth twitching. he never should have come, never should have looked up cougar’s home away from home, never should have marked the anniversary of cougar’s death by visiting the stupid fucking church he’d gone to. he blinked, and the world went watery. “son of a bitch,” he muttered, wiping his eyes roughly. cougar would be pissed at him for swearing in church. he sighed, clenching his teeth. he tried not to feel the pain in his chest, the ache that had never gone away, not for eight years, the ache that throbbed afresh now that he was here. his eyes wandered back to the candle, the lone light in the dark corner. he gasped, unaware that he’d been holding his breath. he fell forward until his forehead hit the pew in front of him.

“dammit, coug, i miss you,” he whispered. “s’been eight fuckin’ years, and there’s still a hole there, man. i got roque, but he had it comin’. clay died killing one of the max’s, and who the fuck knows what happened to aisha. it’s just me ‘n pooch now, bumming jobs all over, tryin’ to get by. it’d be easier with you around. only spanish i know, i picked up from you, and there’s only so far ‘hijo de puta’ and ‘pendejo’ can take you, y’know?” a laugh bubbled up in his throat, stifled by a sob. “god fucking dammit, cougar, why’d you have to get shot? why’d you do a dumbass thing like that? you left me, man. yeah, i’ve got pooch, but i fucking miss your quiet ass. i-“ words leaped, unbidden, to the back of his throat. he choked and spluttered, coughing on the snot running down the back of his throat. he calmed down and just sat there, breathing, until the doors creaked open.

“señor, i am running out of gas.” lifting his head, he looked steadily at the candle. “señor-“

“yeah, yeah. let’s go.” jensen wearily stood up and walked down the aisle.

they drove back to the hotel in silence. they stopped for gas, which jensen paid for. he figured he owed the driver that much. they pulled up to the hotel, and as he was getting out, he noticed battered dog tags dangling from the rearview mirror. _alvarez, carlos_.

“you knew a carlos alvarez?” his voice cracked. the driver nodded.

“sí. he was my cousin. cougar, they called him.”

“small world,” jensen muttered, and opened the car door.

“you know,” said the driver, “he always talked about this goofy blond american named jensen. almost thought there was something going on there that he wasn’t saying, you know?” jensen’s throat closed up. “last time i talked to him, he said he’d bring jensen down here to visit. that was years ago, but grandmother still wants to meet him. she wants to know what happened to carlos. we heard that he was dead, but other than that…” the driver shrugged. jensen stared at the back of the headrest, thinking.

“tell your grandmother that jensen needs a good cabbie to get him around, and that he’d love to visit and talk about cou- about carlos.” the driver turned and started saying something, but jensen was already gone, grateful for the rain streaking down his cheeks.


End file.
